


Sur Parque: Stars of the Wild West

by Tandem_Constable



Category: South Park
Genre: Aliens, Angst, Cowboys, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, F/M, Humor, Ike is a McGuffin, M/M, Multi, Pirates, Sky Pirates, Strong Language, Terrence & Phillip - Freeform, Western/Sci-fi, anxiety attack, indians - Freeform, it's South Park, railroad tycoons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tandem_Constable/pseuds/Tandem_Constable
Summary: Life was peaceful in the wild wild west, aside from the occasional pirates attacks...But that all changed when the sky began to fall.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Eric Cartman/Heidi Turner, Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman (one-sided), Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick/Wendy Testaburger
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. I'm Going Down to Sur Parque

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a cracky piece I'm writing with my brother when he visits for the holidays. The ships are randomly rolled, and the world is spiraling. Please enjoy our garbage baby, we love him dearly.

Gather around the fire, my friends, as I tell you the story of a great and legendary hero from the days of the wild wild west:  
It was nearly high noon. The sun was blazing hot over the tired, dusty town of Sur Parque, and the air prickled with the tension between the two rivals who stood straight-shouldered back-to-back in the center of the main dirt street. Faces peeked agog out the wooden slats of the windows lining the scene.  
The high voice of Mayor Turner ricochetted off the wooden beams holding the town together, “When the clock chimes, take your ten paces.”  
“Ugh, I know how a fucking showdown works, Heidi,” Cartman, the sheriff groused, shooting the mayor a dirty glare. She shrank back under the weight of his disdain.  
“Hey, don’t talk back to the mayor like that, you fucking lard-biscuit!” The other man protested, standing righteous and a full head taller.  
“‘Ey!” The sheriff barked. “I’ll talk to my woman however I want! I’m the goddamned sheriff!” He stamped his heavy-spurred boot in a fit of petulant rage.  
“Goddamned is right, you corrupt son of a bitch!” The other growled, clenching and unclenching his ghostly fists.  
“Don’t you disrespect my mama,” Cartman spat, low and menacing. “And,” he continued, his voice raising in not only volume but pitch, “them’s some mighty strong words coming from the traitor who sided with not only those injuns but now them god forsaken sky pirates!”  
“That’s a lie, and you know it, you fucking pig.”  
“I’m sorry, are you or are you not living in a teepee right now?”  
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see how that has anything to do with the fucking pirate attacks.”  
“Screw you, Kyehl.”  
“Fuck you, Fatass.”  
“Boys-”  
Bong. The first chime of noon rang overhead.  
Bong. Both men grit their teeth and steeled their jaws.  
Bong. In sync, both men took their first step, one light-footed and the other less so.  
Bong. A sharp breeze cut between them and swooped for their hats.  
Bong. Kyle put up no fight, and the wind absconded with the hat, leaving his auburn curls exposed to the elements. Cartman clasped a meaty mitt to his ten gallon hat, determined not to lose it.  
Bong. Crows emerged from the shadows and lighted upon the rooftops to watch the show.  
Bong. The mayor quickly scrambled back and ducked behind a horse for cover.  
Bong. Both men stopped in their tracks, their shadows stretched long and thin.  
Bong. Kyle closed his eyes and breathed a slow, steady breath in through his high-arched nose.  
Bong. Cartman lolled his head from side to side, loudly cracking the bones in his neck in an act of intimidation.  
Bong. Kyle released his breath, heart pounding in his chest, and opened his sanguine, green eyes.  
Bong. Cartman smirked, a sharp toothy grin, and curled the fingers on his gun-shooting hand, popping each knuckle with the roll of his digits.  
Silence hung heavy in the air, only to be broken from the mayor’s shout behind her horse, “On my mark, turn and fire!” Kyle’s fingers twitched over the holster at his hip. “Draw! Fuck him up, Babe!”  
Cartman giggled gleeful to heed the mayor’s request, and spun on his heel, thumb pulling back the hammer.  
But he was too late. Gunslinger Kyle was the fastest draw in the wild wild west. Kyle pulled his trigger, and the sheriff ducked with a high pitched squeal, much akin to that of a wild hog. The bullet whizzed over his head and buried itself soundly in the heart of one Deputy Barbrady, Cartman’s second in this duel.  
“No!” Cartman wailed, stumbling and waddling to the fallen form of his deputy. “Buttbaby, no!” He dropped to the ground and clutched Barbrady’s quickly fading head in his lap. “Kyle, you bastard, he never learned how to read!”  
“What?” Kyle sneered, “I taught him how to read last year.”  
“What.” Cartman dropped Barbrady’s head and stood to his full unimpressive height. “What do you mean you taught him how to read?”  
“I mean, I taught him how to read. It’s not that complicated butter-brain.” Kyle crossed his arms over his chest, towering condescendingly over the sheriff and subsequently the still warm corpse.  
“Well, what am I supposed to scream into the sky now?” Cartman griped.  
“Of course, a man dies, and you go and make it all about yourself. Typical.” Kyle rolled his eyes, blew the smoke from his gun, spun the weapon on his finger, and put it back in its holster. Cartman gasped in exaggerated offense.  
“Slander!” He jabbed a fat finger at Barbrady’s blood-filled mouth. “This is about the tragic death of Badbaby, and how he deserves-”  
“It’s Barbrady.”  
“What?”  
“His name is Barbrady.”  
Cartman floundered for a response, lips flapping but saying nothing. He crossed his arms, and looked away before retorting, “Yeah? Well, did you know he was only two weeks away from retirement?”  
“No he wasn't!” Kyle snapped, eyebrow twitching with impatience. “He was only forty, dumbass.”  
“Then there we go!” Cartman threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. He dropped to his knees once more and scooped his fallen deputy into his arms. “Noo, Barbutty, noooo! He was too young to-”  
Kyle cut him off with a sharp tsk. “This kind of thing is why I didn't bring a second. I knew you would fuck this up and get somebody else killed somehow. This only happened because you were too big of a coward-”  
“Go eat a dick, Kyehl. No one wants to hear another one of your lame pussy speeches.”  
Kyle stopped and stood frozen, staring in disbelief at the sheriff, his jaw hanging open and his shoulders sloped. He threw his hands in the air and turned on his heel. Shaking his head slowly, he walked away, and shouted, “That’s it! I’m done! I’m not enabling your bullshit anymore, Cartman!”  
“Hey!” Cartman flew to his feet and threw the contents of his arms to the ground in a huff. “You can’t just walk out on a duel!”  
“Watch me!”  
“Where do you think you’re even going you fucking Jew? Your little jew tent?” Cartman screamed at Kyle’s retreating back, his fat face bright red and splotched with purple.  
“Yup.”  
“Fuck you!” Cartman screeched into oblivion, his voice failing to reach its target. “Hey! Get back here jew rat! Don’t fucking ignore me! I’m talking to you Kyehl! Your mom’s a big fat ugly bitch, Kyehl! You can’t just kill my deputy and run! You’re the coward! Not me! You are! Kyehl! KYEHL! KYYEEEHLL!”  
“Babe,” the mayor placed a consoling hand on his upper arm. “He’s gone.  
“He’s such an asshole, Heidi. Like, seriously. Can you believe that guy?”

\---------------$$$&$$$---------------

It was dusk, and the pink sun was setting behind the Buffalo hide tents of the Tardicaca camp. Women and children roamed the camp, playing and going about their daily duties. Men returned with food from their hunts (as well as one hog-tied Randy who screamed at them to let their chief loose) and gathered by the fire to eat.  
At the head of this fire was an incredibly handsome and charismatic storyteller. He wove intricate tales, full of magic, intrigue, and comedy to inspire the ages.This story teller was Jimmy Valmer, but he wasn’t important, at least not for now.  
In the very center of the camp, somehow, despite it being the middle of the wild, wild west, and in the middle of the summer no less, sat a pristine, white, igloo, and somehow yet, in front of that igloo, was an ice pond with a hole cut in the center of it, and beside that hole sat somehow, even more so, yet an intuit man, fishing for fish. Next to that igloo was a tent with black smoke billowing out of it.  
“Dammit, Tweek I-” Kyle cut himself off with a groan as he fanned the smoke of of the tent with his hat. He coughed violently and pulled his bandana over his mouth and nose. “I was gone for one afternoon!”  
“MAH! I’m sorry,” a strung out man squeaked, tugging on his tangled blond hair. This was Tweek. “I thought I- oh god- I thought I saw one!” He started panting heavily.  
“Tweek, breathe.” Kyle opened the tent flap wider and turned back to the other man. “One, what?”  
“You know, underpants gnomes! They’re targeting me, man! I know it! They’re trying to take all my good linens!”  
Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. “I thought you said they only came out at night?”  
“Well, that’s what I thought, too! But they’re getting reckless, man! They’re desperate! And you know what messed up shit desperation can make you do! Remember the Donner Party? REMEMBER THE DONNER PARTY?”  
“Calm down!”  
“I can’t!” Tweek twitched and fidgeted his thumbs. His eyes darted wildly around the tent, manically scanning every inch and every crevice and shadow. He, surprisingly, didn’t seem to be affected by the smoke, be it his nerves or a genetic predisposition was hard to tell.  
“You better not have ruined any of my things,” Kyle muttered as the rest of the smoke dissipated. “Where do you even get all that fucking dynamite?”  
“I-I don’t know, man! It ju-just comes outa nowhere!” To prove a point he stuck his hand into his hair, hat long lost, and pulled out an unlit stick of dynamite.  
“Put that away!” Kyle shouted in exasperation.  
“Sorry!” Tweek shoved the dynamite back in his hair and dropped to the floor with a strangled sort of sob. “Please don’t kick me out into the wilderness! I’ll do better, I promise! Oh God! They would eat me alive out there!” Hot tears bubbled down his cheeks and spilled down his front.  
Kyle sighed. “Come on dude, you know I’m not gonna do that to you.”  
“Oh god...” Tweek breathed in horror.  
“What is it this time?” Kyle stepped cautiously back into the tent and repositioned his hat on his head. Tweek refused to meet his eyes.  
“Promise you won’t be mad.”  
“Just tell me what it is.”  
“It’s... Stan of Many Moons... his um...” Tweek bit his lip anxiously.  
“What about Stan?” Kyle stalked closer to the trembling man, unsure whether he should prepare himself to be angry, his stomach flipping in knots and his heart straining.  
“I think the dynamite ruined his hat.”  
Kyle was silent for a beat before his eyes followed Tweek’s gaze. There, on the ground, charred and utterly unrecognizable, was the hat, Stan’s hat. It hat been a red and blue knit hat, and Stan had worn it everywhere and always. It had been the only thing left behind when- It had been what he’d found when-  
“That’s-” Kyle squeezed his eyes shut tightly to prevent the tears, exhaled and continued. “It’s fine. He doesn’t need it anymore, anyway. He’s dead.”  
Tweek was silent.  
Kyle dropped heavily onto his bedroll and flopped back. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and stayed like that, silent and still. He heard Tweek shift, and push himself up, and slip out of the tent. A soft, muttered sorry hung in the air over his head, but he chose not to acknowledge it.  
Darkness fell around him, and he didn't move. Eventually Tweek re-entered the tent, but he pretended to be asleep. He heard the other man hesitate before turning and lying down on his own bedding. Kyle counted the seconds between each of his breaths until they were even and he knew he was the only conscious soul in the space.  
An unformed grumble on his tongue, he pushed himself up and to his feet, and slipped silently out of the tent. He weaved through the camp and left it, walking in the opposite direction of the settlement of Sur Parque. HE climbed to the top of a small hill where he sat and stared up at the dark sky and the twinkling stars.  
“Stan,” he murmured, “Wherever you are, if you’re up there or... not.” He laughed a single breathe, unable to believe what he found himself doing. “I want you to know I miss you. You were my best friend, and now... now it’s just hard.” He sighed and flopped onto his back staring blankly up at the sky.  
A bright light, a shooting star burst across his vision. He allowed himself a small smile, a silly memory of childhood flashing through his mind. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and made a silent wish.  
His heart mollified, and his exhaustion seeping in, he fell asleep there, under the stars. Gentle snores floated out from his chest, and a cool desert breeze brushed through his curly red hair. A bright light descended in the distance, and unnoticed by anyone, a cow lifted into the air, and disappeared.

\---------------$$$&$$$---------------

Kyle looked out over the congregation, gathered in black at city hall. He tightened his grip on the sides of the podium and pulled a deep breath through his nose. He glanced at the mayor, who sniffled in grief, and the sheriff beside her whose grin fought to be seen through his bitter charade.  
“Deputy Barbrady was a kind man, who nestled his way into all of our hearts. He was a simple man, of simple pleasures. Just last year he learned to read, and his favorite story was Tom Thumb’s Picture Alphabet. I will mourn the loss of this brave man, who risked his life everyday for the townspeople he loved. It irks me to think, he might still be among us, if it weren’t for that coward, that we deign to call a sheriff, who instead of bucking up like a fucking man,” the sheriff sat up, his nose scrunched, “let his faithful deputy take his bullet.”  
“Hey! What the fuck?” Cartman leapt to his feet and lunged towards the podium. “You can’t do that!”  
“Do what?” Kyle asked calmly.  
“You can’t ask to speak at someone’s funeral just so you can slander me!”  
“It’s not slander,” Kyle explained as calmly as he could, exercising his restraint, “if it’s fucking true.”  
“Well, you can’t call the sheriff a coward, Kyehl. That’s against the law.”  
“Which is a law only a coward would make.”  
“Why I-” Cartman shoved Kyle aside and pounded his fist on the podium. “Are we to listen to the words of the man who actually fired the bullet that killed Buttbradley? How can you all call him such a great hero now, huh?” Someone gasped in the back of the room, and the room hushed.  
“His name,” Kyle seethed, “Was BARBRADY!” He pounced, fist flying, and punched the sheriff square in the jaw. “And that bullet was meant for you!”  
“Did you hear that? He confessed to trying to kill me!” Cartman screamed to the townspeople.  
“It was a duel, jack-off!” Kyle shook Cartman by the neck of his shirt.  
“Oh yeah? Where does it say in the rules that you have to kill somebody, you stupid jew?” Kyle was momentarily taken aback by the sheer stupidity of the words he had just born horrid witness to. The mayor rose from her seat, about to intervene.  
The doors to city hall burst open and the town’s executioner scrambled into the room. “Oh, Jesus Christ!” He wailed, his bearded face carved with terror.  
“What?” Cartman pushed away from Kyle and approached the frantic, leather-clad man. “What’s going on out there, Mr. Slave?”  
“Oh, it’s just terrible,” He threw an arm over his face, “Oh, Jesus Christ!”  
“Out with it man!”  
“It’s the pirates! They’re attacking us right now!”  
Kyle jerked his head up, eyes wide and alert. “Wait? They’re attacking right now?”  
“God dammit.” Cartman grumbled. “They caught us with our pants off.” He whipped out his two guns with a dramatic flourish and posed for the town to be awe-inspired by him. “It’s time for me to introduce them to the long arm of the law.”  
The sound of the doors slamming shut, broke him from his self- important posturing. Kyle had already ran off. “Fucking-” Cartman stormed after him, determined not to let that weasel reach the pirates before him.


	2. Gonna Have Myself a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirates, man.

Kyle tore through the streets of Sur Parque, his frantic feet stirring up thick clouds of dust in his wake. A large blast erupted in his face, shooting piles of earth fifty feet into the air. Kyle skidded to a stop, arms flailing to keep his balance from the sudden loss of momentum. His gaze was torn upward, where he came eye to eye with the hulking wooden mass of an airborne stern. The ghastly galleon was a dark, warning red, like an open wound festering in the center of an otherwise deceptively baby-blue sky.

Ropes unfurled and twirled off the side of the ship and down to the ground. A dozen blood-lusted cackles broke out from above, descending like a viscous cloud of noxious mirth. A shrill zipping screech broke through the suffocating air; blurred bodies flew down the ropes. The very second their boots touched solid ground, they were off.

The pirates leapt from building to building, pillaging and ransacking with violent smirks smeered across their sallow mugs. Kyle could hear explosions off in the distance and from within the thin walls of the once well-crafted, now ramshackle buildings. His face darkened as he pulled his gun and fired a warning shot into the sky, rallying any nearby parties willing to join in the fray.

Kyle quickly threw himself into the thick of it, ducking under arms, and shoving past bodies, his eyes scanning through the chaos. He had to find his brother before anyone else, the sheriff, could get to him. He vaulted over an upturned barrel and immediately tucked and rolled to avoid a whizzing bullet tearing through his face.

A tiny red-haired pirate burst from the barrel behind him and flew at him with a broken bottle. Kyle spun on his heel, hand clenched around his gun, and decked him in the face with the butt. He crumpled to the ground with a sharp cry, and Kyle spun back around-

And smacked face-first into the bare chest of an overly perfumed old pirate. Kyle scrambled back, covering his nose, and the pirate pointed a rapier at his chest. “En garde!” He shouted. Kyle, even in the midst of chaos, scoffed.

“Really?” He brought his gun to bear and jumped a step back. “Where’s my brother, you dick?” The sword swished and knocked the gun from Kyle’s hand. “Hey! You could have cut me!”

“Well, yeah. That’s the point.” The pirate mocked. “And besides, hiding behind a gun? Have you no honor?” He jumped at Kyle with his sword, and Kyle jumped back, only narrowly avoiding having his nose sliced.

“Hey! Be careful with that thing! It’s not a toy!” He cried, ducking his head under another sweep of the blade. “And really? You’re going to give me a lecture about honor? You’re a pirate! And you’re attacking unprovoked!” Kyle swept his foot out, caught his misplaced gun, and kicked it high into the air.

The swordsman elbowed Kyle out of the way and caught the airborne gun with the edge of his blade. He twirled it around the tip, tossed it into his hand, and stowed the stolen weapon away on his hip. “If you want your precious cheating device back, then face me like a real man!” He whipped a second sword out of literally nowhere and posed at Kyle dramatically, holding the hilt of the blade out for him to grab.

Kyle blinked at him, his brain taking a moment to catch up. “Fuck this,” he said. “I have another gun.” He pulled out the spare weapon, turned, and ran.

The swordsman spluttered. “Hey! Get back here! I’m not done with you, you coward!” The swordsman yelled, chasing after him.

“Don’t care!” Kyle shouted back. “I don’t have time for-”

He smacked into a large, gelatinous mass and was bounced back, landing square on his ass. Kyle quickly pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off. Moist, meaty hands latched onto his arms and squeezed.

“There you are, you glory hog!” Sheriff Cartman seethed in his face.

“What? Get off me!” He pushed the sheriff back. “Now’s not the time, Dumbass!”

“On the contrary, Kyehl! I think now is the perfect time.”

“Fight me like a man!” The swordsman cried, catching up to him. Kyle rolled his eyes and groaned.

“GodDAMNIT, Cartman! Now he’s back!”

“Oh ho-ho!” Cartman chuckled with fiendish delight, “What’s this? Is someone chicken?”

“I’m not chicken, Cartman! I’m in a hurry!” He tried to push past the oafish man, but he snatched his wrist and wrenched him back.

“I think you’re chicken, Kyle.” Cartman grinned a wide shit-eating grin. “Do you need to have a big strong man, like myself, to fight your battles for you? Because I think you’re not really as great as everyone makes you out to be.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me! I just need you to let go of my fucking arm!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You mean to say that my grip is too powerful and manly for you to break free on your own?”

“Look, are one of you jackasses going to fight me or are you just going to stand there flirting with each other?” The swordsman cut in, hand rested impatiently on his hip. Kyle gagged, and Cartman glanced at him with a mixed expression.

“Like seriously Kyle, I could have defeated this guy in under two minutes with one of my hands tied behind my back.” Cartman bragged.

“Yeah? Then have fun with him, Jackass!” Kyle ripped his arm back and broke out of Cartman’s grasp. Cartman huffed.

“I think I will! Hey, what’s-your-ass! Toss me that other sword! I’ll fight you!”

“It’s Swordsman Garrison to you, boy!” He jabbed the hilt at Cartman, and the sheriff took the blade.

“Watch this Kyle,” Cartman turned away from his opponent to brag, “This is gonna be so bada-” A tall-heeled black boot smashed into the side of his face. With a sharp laugh Kyle jumped back from the stumbling oaf and ran in the opposite direction. “Hey! Come back here! You’re totally gonna miss out!”

Kyle didn’t come back. He didn’t even so much as glance back.

“Well, screw him anyway.” Cartman grumbled under his breath. He spun around to face Garrison head on. “I’m gonna kick your ass into next Tuesday, you old leathery bimbo!”

“OLD?” Garrison thrust his sword forward. “Have at thee, Cretin! Ha HA!” He danced forward, hand held behind his back as he swished his blade through the air. Cartman, holding his rapier with both hands, fumbled to block the assault. Garrison leapt back with a laugh and posed in triumph.

Carman, feeling a draft on his stomach, glanced down. The old bastard had carved a ‘G’ into his shirt. Cartman sputtered in confusion, offended. “Hey! That was my good shirt!”

“Oh honey please, that shirt was garbage to begin with.” Garrison roasted, flapping his hand dismissively. Cartman turned bright red.

“What the Hell, man?” Cartman, with pure brute force lunged forward. Garrison delicately jumped back, bouncing on his toes. He twirled forward, pirouetting over a fallen cowboy, and jabbed his blade at the clumsy sheriff. Cartman yelped, the blade digging into his cheek. He hadn’t been able to move fast enough.

“Wow.” Garrison kicked his feet out from under him. “You’re really bad at this aren't you?” He kicked the borrowed sword from Cartman’s grasp. “I bet you’ve never grasped a sword in your lifetime!” He sassed. He chuckled to himself, “Hehe, grasped.”

Cartman gaped at him as the man continued to speak, lamenting and waxing poetic. “It truly is shame that young men these days have lost their regard for the art of the blade. Why back in my day, you couldn’t go three feet without seeing a man polishing his long, lustrous blade. If you couldn’t raise your own sword as well as the others, you were no man! A true man was expected to dedicate himself to his craft, spending decades, upon years honing his body and skill, and mastering the subtle dance of the shaft.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah. Shut up!” Cartman grasped for the sword, but it was out of his reach.

Garrison continued, unhindered by Cartman’s disinterest. “People these days seem to think that guns are the only viable weapon any more! Where is the passion? Where is the honor and respect? Where is the intimacy? You never learn to respect your enemy with a gun! No! Guns are too brash and impersonal for that! But a sword! A sword is a true gentleman’s weapon. A sword is more than just a long, metal, pointy thing! A sword is an extension of a man’s self! A manifestation of his personality, his hopes, his dreams, his deepest desires.”

“Yawn, yawn, yawn, no one cares grandpa.” Cartman whipped his gun out of its holster and shot Garrison in the shoulder. Garrison screamed and wilted back, clutching his bleeding wound in agony. “And fuck you! Who cares about respect and knowing your enemy so long as you win? I don’t need that gay shit.” He kicked Garrison in the side and stepped over his body.

He had a Kyle to squash beneath his boot.

\---------------$$$&$$$---------------

Tweek slowly put down his bowl of beans and stared at the sky. In the distance he could see smoke billowing up over the town, where he could also see dark masses floating overhead. He blew the steam off his beans, grateful he had decided to leave Sur Parque years ago, after the sheriff had kicked him out. He twitched.

Kenny, the inuit (who for some reason that Tweek could never quite figure out, lived in the desert that was somehow in Colorado), approached him and started saying something to him. Tweek pinched up his face and grunted at him in stressed confusion. He had never been able to understand the other man.

“What?” Tweek squeaked, pulling at his hair. Kenny groaned and started again. Tweek stared him in pained concentration. He thought he made out the word ‘Kyle’. Wait... Kyle?

Tweek sprang to his feet. “Kyle! Oh my god! He went into town for the funeral!” Tweek started pacing in a circle, drumming his fingers against the side of his skull. “Oh no! But the town’s under attack by pirates! He hasn’t come back yet, so he’s probably caught in the middle of it! Oh GOD! He’s probably gonna run after his brother and get himself killed! And then if he’s dead, who’s gonna fight the underpants gnomes?!”

“Dude.” Kenny mumbled.

Tweek heard a bright crack behind and whirled around. Someone had shot off a flare over Sur Parque. It was one of Kyle’s flares. He was in danger. “Oh God!” Tweek cried. “He needs us!” He grabbed Kenny’s wrist and started running. Kenny was quick to keep in step with him.

“Quick!” Tweek called out. “Kyle needs our help!” Various heads poked out of their tents.

“Kyle needs help?” One of them asked.

“We like Kyle. Let’s go help him!” Another responded. They nodded eagerly and ran to gather their weapons.

Tweek scrambled to a stop in front of their ‘great’ chief’s tent. He sucked in a deep breath, readying himself to push open the flap and enter. Kenny brushed him to the side and strode in confidently, as if he himself was the chief. “Gah! Wait!”

Kenny crossed his arms over his chest and began to speak. The chief, Pocahontas Randy, leisurely rose from his bedroll, a lazy smile on his face. “What’s that, Little Skippy? Little Timmy’s fallen down the well?”

Kenny stamped his foot in agitation and repeated himself. He jabbed his finger at the exit and pointed meaningfully at the chief. Pocahontas Randy blinked at him, eyes glazed over. Then he straightened, realization lighting behind his eyes. “Oh! Pirates are attacking the white man! Eh, I’m sure they can take care of it.”

Kenny, with an open palm, smacked himself in the face and dragged his hand down. He snapped back a retort, waving angrily out the tent. Randy tilted his head at him.

“Kyle is out there?” Randy asked, looking concerned. Kenny nodded emphatically and held open the tent flap for the man to pass through. Randy waved him off and settled back down. “He’s a tough little scamp. I’m sure he can fend for himself.”

Sharon, a medicine woman who had left her life behind to marry the chief smacked the lazy man in the back of the head. “Randy! I think you should go help them!”

“But Sharon!” Randy whined. “His brother is a pirate! He’s fine!” She smacked him again. “Okay fine! I’ll go! You don’t have to be such a bitch about it!”

“What did you call me?”

“No-nothing Honey! I love you!” He scrambled to his feet. “I’ll just go get the horse running!” He grabbed Kenny and Tweek by the arm and pulled them out of the tent. “Quickly guys, she’s majorly PMSing right now.”

“RANDY!”

“Can’t hear you Honey! I’m off to fight the white man!” Randy called over his shoulder, laughing nervously. He wasn’t looking where he was going and tripped over the leg of an incredibly intelligent young man who just so happened to have been sitting in his path.

“Off- off t-to to f-fight the white m-man?” Asked the brilliant young man. “S-s-so-s-sorry I tri-t-tripp-tripped you th-then.” He grinned brilliantly. “G-giv-ve th-them Hell f-for me.”

\---------------$$$&$$$---------------

Kyle wheezed, his hands burning. He swung his left arm up, gripping a rope tightly with his right as he searched for his grip. He was halfway up to one of the flying ships, and if he fell now, he was damned. He would splatter. And he would splatter everywhere. A chill raced up his spine.

“Don’t think about it, don’t think about it,” he murmured to himself. He had to find Ike.

Determination to find his brother fueling him, he tugged himself up with all of his strength and shimmied even higher. He refused to look down, vertigo already making his head swim. “Oh God,” he grumbled. His arms shook and felt like jelly.

His shaking fingers grasped and found the lip of the railing. He curled his fingers in, seeking purchase with his nails. He heaved himself up and over the railing, throwing himself bodily aboard the ship. He groaned and pushed himself up onto his knees, only to find himself nose to nose with the barrel of a gun. “Oh for fucks sake.”

At the end of the gun was a buxom blonde, her eyes crinkled in delight and sparkled in the sun. “Well, would you look what we have here?” She shoved him back with the gun; his head smacked painfully into the wood behind him. “Another little landlubber who thinks he can take on me and my boys?” She laughed lightly, extending her neck so it could be hit by the sun. Kyle rolled his eyes, reaching for his gun.

She kicked his hand, knocking the weapon out of his grasp and sending it skidding across the deck to the other side of the ship. Another pirate, a blond boy in stripes, scooped it up and tucked it into his belt. “I-I got it cap’n!” He called.

“Thank you, Butters!” She sang.

“Ah man. That was my last gun.” Kyle whined. The captain grinned. She snatched his chin, her sharp nails biting his flesh, and pulled him up to inspect. He winced as she wrenched his face from side to side.

“You look familiar.” She murmured. She bit her lip in thought, glancing away for a moment. Kyle thought it might be his chance to be escape, but before he so much as shifted, she kicked him in the stomach. “Don’t even think about it.” She growled.Kyle shivered.

“Hey! I know you!” She cried suddenly.

“You do?” Kyle asked, tired and in pain.

“Yeah! I do!” She pulled him up to his shaky feet and brushed the dust off his shoulders. “You’re Ike’s older brother! Keiffer!”

“Kyle.”

“What?”

“My name is Kyle. Kee-fer isn’t even a real name.”

“It could be.” The captain shrugged, flipping her curly blonde hair over her shoulder.

“But it’s not.”

She pointed the gun back in his face. “What are you doing on my ship, anyway?” She rose an eyebrow at him, blood-red lips scrunched together in annoyance. “Don’t tell me you’re here for Ike. He doesn’t want to see you.” She threw her head back and laughed. “He isn’t even on this ship!”

“Shut up!” Kyle screamed, smacking the gun out of her hand. She laughed in surprise, then kicked him in the shin. He grunted but remained standing.

“You dick! I should throw you overboard!”

“Do it.” Kyle spat at her boot. She clutched the front of his shirt and heaved him back, slamming him into the railing. She pressed into him, his head dangling over the side. He gasped, regretting his words, and grabbed her arms.

“Aw, gee, Cap’n,” the deckhand Butters interjected. “I think that’s a bit mean now, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Butters,” the captain said, staring Kyle down, “you’re too sweet to be a pirate.”

“Oh...” Butters rubbed his knuckles together. “I mean, I think we should throw him in the brig so we can torture him later!” The captain grinned hearing his uncertain words.

“You know,” she turned away from Kyle to face Butters directly, “I like how you think.” Kyle took the moment of distraction to his advantage. He slammed his knee up between her legs, and when she crumpled, flipped himself over the edge of the railing, maintaining his grip long enough to find a rope to grab onto.

“You asshole!” She screeched.

“Whatever!” Kyle yelled as he whizzed down the rope. A gust of wind swept up beneath, tossing him haphazardly through the air. He yelped and hugged the rope tightly, heart pounding in his throat. He heard the captain laugh above him, and steeled his jaw, face burning.

“Get him, Butters.”

\---------------$$$&$$$---------------

“It’s not doing anything!” One of the pirates roared, throwing his empty gun to the ground. “It don’t matter how much I shoot him. The bullets just bounce off his fat, blubbery hide!” Cartman whirled around, a gun in each hand, and glared at the man.

“What did you just call me?” He seethed, stalking up to him. The pirate leaned forward, a sneer on his lip.

“I called ye fat.”

“I’M NOT FAT!” Cartman screamed, spinning in a circle, firing bullets in every direction. He heard people yelp and jump out of the way, but he also heard his projectiles connect and people scream and thump to the ground. He stilled, panting, and took in the carnage around him. At his feet, in every direction, were bleeding and moaning pirates. He grinned.

He twirled his guns on his fingertips, blew the smoke of each one, like a cool action hero, and stowed the weapons away at his sides. “That ought to show ‘em who’s boss.” He said with a husky, western drawl and looked dramatically at the sky, chest puffed out, fists triumphantly at his hips.

He saw a slight form stuttering down one of the damned pirate ropes. He squinted, holding his hand up to block the sun. That form looked familiar. It could have been the pale skin, or the ungodly green shirt, or the bright plume of red hair atop his head- it was Kyle.

“There you are you goodamned sonnuva bitch.” He smirked. He gave one last kick to one of the pirates moaning at his feet and ran off in Kyle’s direction as quickly as he could waddle.

\---------------$$$&$$$---------------

Tweek yelped, ducking under a flying executioner’s ax. Of course he had to run into the executioner, of course he did! He wasn’t wanted in this town- no one wanted an outlaw in their town. Tweek whipped out a stick of dynamite and flung it blindly. It exploded- it exploded the bank.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” The executioner yowled, cradling his face in his hands. “That was the bank!”

“Sorry!” Tweek squealed as he ran off, sliding under a horse to create distance between the two of them. He didn’t like being here. He didn’t like being here at all. If the pirates didn’t get him, the cowboys would. He had to find Kyle and get out of there as quickly as possible. He wasn’t brave, or heroic. What was he doing here?

Tweek glanced up at the sky. One of the pirate ships was burning. He scratched at his arms as he ran. It was going to come crashing down at any time, and it could crush him. He could die! He had to get out of there! There were so many others here to help Kyle. He didn’t need him. His breathing started becoming heavy, faster, shorter. He gasped.

“Oh God!” He crumpled, weighed down by his own terror, unable to keep moving. He curled in on himself, hot tears burbling down his cheeks. He had to get up. He had to keep moving.

But he couldn’t.

Why couldn’t he move?

Something grabbed him. He whimpered and rolled in further. He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. This was the end. He was going to die miserable, and alone, surrounded by screaming and fire.

“Dude.” The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “Breathe.” The voice was somewhat distorted, but it only spoke with one word at a time so he could make out what it said. He tried to suck in a breath, but it was tight.

Another hand grabbed his other shoulder, steadying him, grounding him. He squeezed his eyes tightly and pulled in raspy air. “Tweek.” That was his name. Tweek sucked in another breath. His head still pounded, but he could open his eyes. A pair of light blue eyes were staring back at him. The inuit.

“Than-”

The inuit pointed to the sky, speaking too fast for Tweek to keep up. His head swam, but he looked where the other was pointing. It was Kyle! He was climbing unsteadily down one of the pirate ropes. Tweek woozily rose to his feet, still not feeling quite connected with his body. He didn’t feel calm, or alright, but he could move, and he would. His friend still needed him.

He stumbled in Kyle’s direction, Kenny hot on his heels. Actually, Kenny quickly outpaced him, and he had to struggle to keep up. He thought about asking him to slow down, to wait for him, but he didn’t. It wasn’t like he actually would. Getting to Kyle was more important. Tweek gnawed at his cheeks as he ran.

A black-leather-clad pirate, clutching his arm shouldered past him, almost knocking him to the ground. He almost lost sight of Kenny. A loud cannon boomed overhead. Both he and the pirate behind him shouted in shock. Tweek kept running, into the center of the chaos, like a foolhardy idiot, certain he was racing towards his tender demise.

There he was! There was Kyle! He could see him, just on the other side of the lake of suffering. Kyle’s face lit up, not because he saw them coming for him, but because he saw something further off, deeper in the fracas. He turned, running away from them.

“KYLE!” Tweek screamed, desperate to gain his attention. Kyle turned, confusion marring his face.

“Tweek? What the Hell are you doing here?” Tweek crumpled in on himself.

“KYEHL!” Bellowed the enraged belly of the beast, the sheriff Cartman, as he charged from behind Tweek. Tweek leapt out of his way, immediately hating himself for his cowardice.

“Kyle?” Asked a little voice, from the direction Kyle had been running. Kyle spun and scooped up a struggling little body, clutching it protectively to his chest. Cartman drew both of his guns, spittle flying from his lip. Tweek grimaced, instinct taking over.

He pulled his arm back, a bundle of lit dynamite squeezed in his fist. “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” He screeched, lobbing the explosives at the sheriff. The dynamite flew through the air in a delicate arch. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if he was wading through jelly. The dynamite reached its crescendo-

The world went white. With a deafening, booming crack, blinding light flashed over everyone, everything. It was only a moment, but it seemed to stretch on for eternity. Tweek stumbled back, screaming and clutching at his shrilly ringing ears.

He breathed in deeply, taking a moment to reorient himself. He couldn’t hear, but he could see. Everyone around him stood frozen, staring blankly around themselves. Pirates lowered their swords, and cowboys dropped their guns, each equal in their confusion. Tweek grabbed onto something solid beside him to hold himself up.

In the center of town, high pitched and crackling, a column of light descended from the sky. A dark mass slowly drifted down the pillar of light, like an angel of death from the heavens above. It touched ground, and the light disappeared. The world was silent.

It raised its head, standing tall and imposing, and silently scanned the crowd. Tweek felt his chest go light. “Holy crap.”


	3. Friendly Faces Everywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Sky Asshole

Tweek shivered, boots frozen in place. His eyes raked up the stranger’s lithe and menacing figure. He was tall, taller than any person Tweek had ever met, almost inhumanly tall, like a monster, a nightmare spawned from the very depths of his worst imaginations. He was garbed head to foot in dark, glistening blue metal, so very nearly similar to a knight’s armor, but nothing like anything Tweek had ever even heard of before.

The stranger tilted his head, his face covered by a pane of stained glass, amber and impossible to see through. He crushed a rock under his foot, digging a thick black boot into the dust, firmly widening his stance. His powerful arm raised slowly, pulling a gun from over his shoulder.

The gun was otherworldly.

It was massive, bigger than both of Tweek’s legs combined. He hadn’t even thought it was possible for a gun to be so large, and he couldn’t begin to imagine the sheer weight such a weapon would possess. It was a deep, nightmare encompassing black, that caught the rays of the sun and devoured them whole. It had some sort of bulbous tank strapped to the side of it, a viscous green liquid sloshing around inside. He held the weapon slackly at his side, as if to him, it was an inconsequential part of his everyday life, nothing more than a mere extension of his deadly being.

Stiffly, he lifted his hand to his head. He clenched a fist, slowly curling his fingers. His gloves, a black leather that couldn’t have possibly come from anywhere on this Earth, creaked as he pressed two fingers to the side of his helmet. The sound pierced Tweek’s lungs; it was a warning. It heralded his death, the demise of them all. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, sending a wish, a prayer, a plead out that despite the starkest odds, he might somehow survive this.

The metal man spoke, his voice the only tangible thing Tweek knew in the self-imposed darkness cast by his own unyielding lids. His words were impossible to parse, unrecognizable as belonging to any human tongue, garbled and sharp. The voice itself was disconnected from reality. Tweek thought it sounded human, but there was a part of his mind that was unsure, and he was uncertain why. It was deep, flat, but had a strange buzzing quality to it. It almost sounded bored, as if their eradication was no more unusual to him than breathing.

The worst part of it was... Tweek almost felt himself be calmed at the sound of that horrid voice. And that alien sensation of calm terrified him more than anything had ever terrified him before. It was like the siren’s call- Kyle had told him about it before, a song that would numb the senses and trick sailors into jumping overboard to their watery deaths. It was like that. Tweek breathed, reminding himself not to be tricked, to survive. He had to open his eyes, knowing if he could see the threat, he would remember how vital it was to be wary, to be cautious, to be scared.

He peeled his eyes open slowly, terrified, but knowing it was vital. It was almost more frightening not to know by this point. He was abruptly confronted with his own sweaty visage, dark sickly yellow, and distorted on a wide curve. “OH GOD!” He shrieked. The stranger was right in his face, close enough that his breath fogged up the glass plate, close enough that he could hear the stranger’s entire being thrum with a whisper buzzing.

“Hmm,” the stranger hummed. He raised a black-gloved hand, only his index finger extended and brushed a strand of hair out of Tweek’s eyes. Tweek twitched. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t-

The stranger turned away from him, disinterested. Tweek, with a throbbing dizzy head, watched him saunter away, his eyes focused on his retreating back as the rest of the world around him spun and went dark around the edges. He felt a dull thud on the side of his head, as if he had been struck by a heavy blow, but he felt no pain, and everything was sideways, and blurry, and dim.

\---------------$$$&$$$---------------

There he was, that sneaky little jew, in the very center of the pirate hoard, the traitorous little shit. How he could consistently betray his own kind, the cowboys, was confounding, and today- today he would finally die for it, and today, Cartman would be vindicated for once in his goddamned life.

“KYEHL!” He bellowed with a strong and righteous voice. He shoved past some wimpy blond idiot- why was he just standing there in the center of a pirate attack anyway? Useless. That mop of ratty blond hair was familiar, angering, but he didn't have the time to spare trying to place a name, not when Kyle Broflovsky, the bane of his existence, the reason his blood boiled in his veins, was so close, standing exposed, defenseless, deliciously vulnerable.

The red-haired libertine couldn’t even bother himself to spare Cartman so much as a well-deserved glance, not even as he raced toward him so swiftly to deliver his overdue death upon him. No, instead he bent down, eyes-sparklingly delighted by something small he must have found, cruelly rubbing his disinterest in Cartman’s face. Eric growled, body trembling with hatred, and whipped both of his guns out of their holsters, his jowls quivering uncontrollably.

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” A high-pitched, eardrum shredding scream broke out behind him. He whipped his head around, feet still pounding towards his prey. There was a fucking lit bundle of dynamite hurtling towards him at a shit-inducing pace. He yelped, arms reaching out for protection, he latched onto Heidi, his girlfriend and the mayor, praising the miracle that she had been there at all, and hid himself behind her.

A blinding flash of white light seared his vision, and he screamed, unwilling to admit to himself that the pig-like squeal he heard was his own voice. Had he died? Was this what death felt like, how it smelled? If so, then he was afraid he must have missed a turn on his way to Heaven.

“Wow,” he heard a judgmental hum beside him- Kyle. He still couldn’t see clearly, but he would recognize the Devil’s voice anywhere. It was certain; he was in Hell. He opened his mouth to say something, to retort or to ask what he meant, disconnected from the fact he was still nestled behind Heidi’s shaking form. His vision was slowly returning to him. He could see clouds of swirling dust, gobsmacked pirates, trembling indians, and fellow cowboys who had forgotten how to stand their ground.

He... was... Alive? It couldn’t be. By all accounts he-

A bright crackle, like lightning but longer, broke the silent air behind him. He spun, bringing Heidi with him, keeping her as a barrier between him and whatever the fuck that massive, pulsating pillar descending from the sky was. He didn’t have any idea what it was, but he did know that he hated it and that he didn't want it anywhere near his goddamned town.

“Real cool, dude,” Kyle muttered sarcastically at his side, his eyes narrow and judgmental. Kyle was cradling a dark-haired child to his chest, one small enough that he couldn’t have been older than eight. Cartman straightened, grip still tight on Heidi’s shoulders. She didn’t say a word, her eyes trained on the sky.

“Babe, look.” Heidi patted one of his hands, stealing his attention away from Kyle, though it took him an entire beat of the heart for him to actually turn away to see what she was pointing a broken green bottle at. It wasn’t until he saw Kyle turn to look, saw his bottle-green eyes widen in horror that he actually tore his gaze away. His heart froze and sank into the pit of his stomach.

A dark lump- no, a man- descended from on high. Could it be? A wide dopey grin spread across his face. Could this be a holy angel, sent from Heaven to wipe this blighted world of its sinners? At last, the heretical menace that had plagued him for so many years would finally be purged from his life. Kyle would finally receive what he deserved.

The tube-like light receded back into the sky, leaving the being standing solitary and tall in the center of it all. But it was all wrong. He saw no wings. He saw no halo, no robes. He heard no holy choir, felt nothing spiritual or sacred in the air. He felt empty. There, stood before them, was no angel. Cartman hadn’t the words for what he saw, but he wasn’t an angel.

The man, the thing, just barely even looked human.

He wore layers of glistening blue metal, but even still, Cartman could tell that his domineering, towering form was woven all the way through with thick, corded muscle. He felt his palms go sweaty, the image of one of those hands gripping his neck and squeezing the life out of him flashing through his mind. He tightened his grip.

The man pulled down a gun from over his shoulder, massive. Cartman’s fear dissipated, just like that. Cartman knew the type, the men who overcompensated with overlarge muskets, or fancy flying pirate-ships. There wasn’t any need to fear a man with a tiny dick. Not that he personally could relate to the notion, his dick was perfectly average- nay gigantic. He had a perfectly normal gigantic shlong. Yup. Huge.

His feet didn’t move, and he pulled Heidi closer to his chest. “You know,” Kyle murmured beside him, his eyes lazily glancing between Cartman and the shadowy intruder, “If I were committed to a woman, she would be behind me.” Kyle snorted, his soft voice drowning out the droning metallic voice of the newcomer. “Weren’t you bragging about what a big, strong man you are?”

“Shut up, Kyle,” Heidi hissed, her honey eyes blown wide and cemented on the stranger’s approaching form.

“Yeah, shut up, Kyle.” Cartman parroted. Kyle, very immaturely Eric might add, stuck his tongue out at him.

“Boys, now is kinda not the time,” She grit through clenched teeth.

The dark stranger marched past them, leaving an icy chill in his wake. He stalked up and down the rows of people, his movements cold, calculating, methodical, and predatory. Cartman shivered. Kyle took a step closer to him- no, he took a step in front of Heidi, making some sort of asshole display at **his** goddamned woman. Cartman seethed.

“Tweek,” Kyle breathed, sounding both disappointed and concerned at the same time.

“Tweek?” Cartman recognized that name. He figured he probably ought to pay attention to what was going on around him, instead of beside him. Stupid fucking distracting Kyle with his impudent sun-kissed face and his stupid ki-punchable smirk. There stood the sky-borne stranger, bent at the hip to peer enigmatically at the blond idiot from before, the blond idiot who stood quivering, white-knuckled fists vibrating at his sides, face red from how tightly shut he held his eyes. “Didn’t I outlaw him two years ago? Yeah.” Cartman glared accusatorially at Kyle’s frustratingly inattentive profile. “What’s he doing here?”

“OH GOD!” That shrill banshee-boy wailed, giving Cartman a headache he really didn't need. Tweek’s face went white as the strange blue man brushed a finger across his face. He was breathing so rapidly, hyperventilating, that even from the three yards away he stood, Eric could see the palpitations of his chest. Tweek swayed and he smacked the ground with a bonebreaking crunch.

Kyle winced. “What is he even doing here?” Cartman whirled around, eyes latched onto the back of Kyle’s head, then his shoulders, where Heidi gripped his shirt for security. The bastard. He had a fucking child in his arms, and here he was trying to make himself look more heroic. Bastard.

“Isn’t he like your charge or something?”

Kyle ignored him, instead opting to turn around and place the dark-haired child in Heidi’s arms. “I trust you, keep him out of danger for me, okay?” Heidi nodded, and Kyle turned back around. “I think I’ll...,” he dramatically grasped the gun at his hip, “introduce myself.” He grinned, unabashed and glowing in the sunlight.

“Like Hell you are!” Cartman spun Heidi out of his way and yanked Kyle’s elbow back. He would be damned if he let Kyle throw around cheesy one-liners as he tried to take **his** spotlight once again. He wouldn’t stand for it. He shoved Kyle behind him, the other man stumbling from the suddenness of his action. “I’ll be the one showing him the lay of the land.” Kyle scoffed behind him, phlegmy and unimpressed. Asshole.

“I’d love to see that.” Kyle rolled his eyes, absentmindedly patted the head of the child in Heidi’s arm. Cartman grumbled under his breath, taking his first step into the clearing, his first step closer to the dark-clad giant. The giant immediately whipped his head around, as if having sensed Cartman’s movement. Cartman hesitated, if only for a moment, but a long enough moment for him to be deemed nonthreatening. The stranger returned on his path, undeterred. Cartman felt his blood boil up, and humiliating heat flared across his cheeks.

The stranger stopped in front of a man, one who Cartman didn’t know the name of, suddenly appearing very fascinated. He circled the man, like a vulture would its prey, eyeing him up and down with minuscule movements of his helmet. He stretched out and ran his hand across the man’s chest and stomach, occasionally squeezing and kneading. Cartman was taken aback by the display, not sure how he was supposed to interpret what he saw. The man being groped went pale, his knees quivering, and honestly, Eric didn’t blame him.

He heard Kyle mumble something behind him. He didn’t know what he said, but that irritating fucking voice spurred him to action. “HEY ASSHOLE!” He fired at the stranger fifteen times. Each and every single one of his bullets bounced off his metal back and ricocheted, five of them redirecting themselves directly into cowboy lungs. Cartman winced. Kyle barked a half-laugh in surprise. Heidi yelped, covering her eyes. The stranger, he didn’t even fucking notice: didn't flinch, didn't hitch in breathing, didn't do anything,

The stranger stepped back, cocking his head at the man. The world was still; it was painfully quiet. The stranger nodded once, short and brusque, and pressed his thumb to the frozen man’s sweaty forehead. He swirled the digit in one elegant swoop, leaving a dark blue trail. He drew a slow, perfect circle in a counterclockwise motion and harshly swiped his thumb straight down, creating a line down the dead center. He pulled back, patted the man once on the head, as if half-heartedly consoling him.

“Congratulations,” the man spoke in a monotone voice, booming yet whisper-like. He had a slight lisp to his speech, as if the word was a foreign one to him. He lifted his arm over his head, pointed to the sky, and snapped his arm down.

A snakelike appendage erratically plummeted from so high above the clouds that it seemed to come from nowhere at all. At the end of the appendage were three horrifically sharp, giant, gleaming claws, each longer than a horse. They wrapped around the marked man, a claw over each shoulder and one betwixt the man’s legs. The man made a strangled sort of noise, tears streaming down his face. He grabbed onto the claws, as if about to pull them off.

All was silent, all was still. Cartman raised his gun, but he didn’t fire. Kyle wrapped his arms around Heidi, his attention on the child in her arms. The air was thick and cold. The appendage, a glistening metal rope, suddenly went taut with a sharp metallic clunk. The man was yanked into the sky, gone within the blink of an eye, leaving behind only an ear-shattering scream.

“WILHELM! NOOO!” Cartman cried, his hands thrown dramatically in the air.

Kyle scoffed. “Would you stop that? Wilhelm died three years ago.”

Cartman rounded on Kyle, incredulous look on his face. “Oh yeah, then why did he sound exactly like Wilhelm?” He shoved Kyle’s shoulder. Kyle squared up, subtly sliding Heidi, and by extension the child behind him. Cartman glowered, his eyes tracking the action.

“And why the Hell would you be able to recognize his screaming, huh?” Kyle shoved him back. He stumbled back and widened his stance. He was going to make him bleed.

“Don’t fucking push me!” Kyle pushed him again. Cartman growled, and Kyle pushed him again.

“So,” the stranger spoke, his voice, while still emotionless, crisp and cutting. Kyle looked up, his already pale face paling paler. Cartman turned around. The blue metal man was staring right at them. “Who shot at me?” Kyle snatched Cartman by the sleeves and threw him to the ground at the sky-man’s feet.

“Fucking traitor!” A heavy black boot connected with Cartman’s face. Cartman grabbed the foot, glaring at Kyle.

Kyle laughed, shrugging innocently. “What? I thought you wanted to show him the lay of the land.”

“I don’t appreciate being shot at unprovoked.” The sky-man spoke, shoving the nozzle of his giant gun under his third chin. The man released him and took a step back, having made his point. Cartman scrambled to his feet and pulled out his gun.

“Unprovoked? Unprovoked?” He stamped his foot. “I didn’t shoot at you unpro-fucking-voked!” He fired his gun into the sky, a warning shot to emphasize his point. A concentrated stream of liquid whizzed at him, devouring his gun and burning his hand. Cartman wailed and jumped back. The stranger slowly lowered his gun, emoting zero emotion.

“AUGH!” Kyle shouted dramatically, covering his mouth and nose. “That smells like rotten shit.” And indeed it did, Cartman gagged, staring at the puddle at his feet, it smelled like rotting feces.

“That’s a warning.” The stranger said. He stood back in the very spot he had arrived, no-one daring to come anywhere near him. He lifted two fingers to the side of his head, and spoke once more in that unrecognizable tongue. Then, even faster than when he had arrived, a beam of solid light sucked him up, and he was gone.

Cartman growled, fists clenching and unclenching.

“Fuck this!” One of the pirates shouted. “We’re out of here!”

“Retreat boys!” A blond buccaneer shouted, shooting her pistol in the air. The pirates scattered, running in every which way and scrambling frantically up the ropes back onto their ships like a swarm of piss-smelling spiders. Cartman just let them go, their retreat feeling more like defeat than victory.

Goddamned space-man had stolen his glory.

“Whelp,” Kyle stretched his arms over his head and cracked his back. “I think it’s about time I go as well.” He wrapped struggling the black-haired child back in his arms.

“Kyle!” The kid shouted, “I wanna go with the pirates!”

“Ike, shut up.” Kyle stooped down over the supposed corpse of the outlaw Tweek. Cartman couldn’t remember if he had seen him be shot. “Kenny, would you get him?”

And Kyle and his injuns retreated, like a bunch of no good bleeding cowards, not a single one of the lot better than the spineless pirates. Cartman convulsed with how greatly he seethed. He would see to it, personally, that every single one of them met their ends.

And that included Mr. Uppity-Self-Important-Man-From-The-Sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll miss you Wilhelm. You were a true blue.


End file.
